That was what Jacob declared with a mischievous grin when I told him that his father had just bellowed “bed time!” from downstairs. Corelyn and I had arrived in Nash-vegas (as Brady likes to call it) a few hours before, only to find ourselves headed off by a minivan full of hungry Allens (plus a George) on their way to Maggiano’s. The food, of course, was delicious, but it severely delayed the niece/nephew play-time that Uncle Rew had been so craving, so as soon we got back, a sort of “hide and seek” Olympics commenced. Unfortunately, Jacob and I discovered that Natalie has a propensity for leaping from her hiding spot with a wide grin, unable to await her capture. To make matters worse, she was also fond of pointing a tiny little crooked finger towards wherever her supposed teammate was trying to stay concealed. Many a golden hiding spot was relinquished by this tiny, cackling menace.
The games could only last so long on Thursday night, but come Friday morning a more exhaustive regiment of classics such as “Run Around the Pool Table” (which J-man’s father is wary of, since his son is beginning to utilize his short stature and boundless energy to great effect) and “Tag” was implemented. Although huffing and wheezing, neither Jacob nor myself was man enough to admit we were exhausted, so we mutually feigned boredom and moved onto “Hide and Seek.” An otherwise nonplussed Natalie now joined into the action, and although her uncle could not silence her attempts at conversation when Jacob was “it,” her older brother began (without my suggestion) bravely hiding in the same spot with her whenever I was on the hunt, quietly talking her through the procedure of the game: “Stay quiet, sissy! He’s coming!” She still couldn’t resist hopping out a few times with a wild smile on her face, leaving her brother squeezed behind a couch, smacking his forehead in frustration.
But the day was young, dear reader! And children, you may recall, are limitless in their energy. After a delicious lunch of Italian leftovers, a trip to the pool became inevitable. Upon arriving, Jacob made it clear to me that he wanted to jump into the pool from the side, and I agreed, having caught him several times in the past without difficulty. However, as he shed his arm-floaties and backpedaled steadily away from the side of the pool, his dear old Uncle Rew’s eyes grew wide with fear. “Uh, Jacob, I don’t…” He wasn’t listening, already halfway through a “One Two Three GO!” Before I knew what was happening, he was flying off the side of the pool into the water, sustained in the air by momentum from a ferocious running start. He landed with a mighty splash, finding my attempts to catch him in mid-air completely unnecessary, giggling all the way. Snatching him anxiously out of the water, I turned around to discover his parents equally startled: “Did you just do a running jump, J-man?” Holly asked, alarmed. Apparently, a meager four days of swimming lessons produced some spectacular results.
We lost all track of time at the pool, and by the time we packed up our caravan to return to Bronwyn Manor (if I’m saying the Dadster’s nickname correctly), feats of daring and heroism had been perpetrated by both niece and nephew alike: Natalie was being launched ten feet into the air without hesitation, Jacob was snatching toys off the bottom of the pool, and the supposed “adults” in charge of this expedition were clobbering each other in pursuit of a ball that was being tossed around. We returned, exhausted, to discover a mortified Boomer, tapping his feet angrily; he could tell fun had been had without him.
Speaking of Boomer, my sentimentality for the canine species mixed with a fond reminiscence of the dearly departed B-tar inspired me to invite the shaggy one into bed with me, which the wife tolerated gamely. Now Boomer picked a spot early and fell right to sleep but unfortunately, his human friends were demanding different ratios of covers, switching sleeping positions, and watching television, and about halfway through the night B-town couldn’t take it anymore, resigning to the foot of the bed. “How uncivilized,” he seemed to be saying.
Cor and I are both quite excited to have finally met little Brady, but at this point his interest level in anything that does not…ahem…provide certain nutritional value is limited. I caught Holly referring to the young Brado as “grumpy girl” once, after which she sucked in a gasp and exclaimed: “Whoops! My last infant was a girl! It’s just force of habit!” Understandable mistake. Jacob has also referred to me once or twice as “Dad–er…Uncle Andrew,” politely explaining right after that the mistake originates from my family resemblance being augmented by wearing the same kind of sunglasses.
You’re pretty much up to date now, but there’s plenty more left in today and tomorrow. Stay tuned!
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